A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

He had piercing blue eyes like Adalbert’s, and they seemed to speak the truth. "For the soldiers of Franconia, you will always be the hero upon whom God smiles. Though there may be different opinions in Saxony, and in parts of Schwaben and Bavaria, rumors can never become truth.

We all know our Emperor Henry will always be a fearless hero." Goth Shalke’s tone was exceptionally gentle.

"Bavaria... That coward, Welf, doesn’t even dare show his face to me."

Henry had deliberately chosen the route through Bavaria to enter the Tuscan Duchy, precisely to make Welf, his once dearest friend, feel utterly humiliated.

He wanted everyone to know that Welf, the man the Emperor had once trusted implicitly, the court favorite who had received his very title from the Emperor, had shamelessly betrayed him. He was a faithless traitor.

"Perhaps that is something to be thankful for. At least Duke Welf doesn’t have a clear conscience. Maybe he repents in his bed at night," Goth Shalke said, attempting to jest.

"I will never forgive him. Never! I gave him everything..." Henry finally sighed, cutting short his useless venting. He walked to his mount and swung himself into the saddle.

For he had to ride on to meet an even greater despair.

Goth Shalke followed suit, mounting his own horse.

Shortly after, the procession began to move.

A light rain began to fall. It was a welcome relief, for even at night, Italy was oppressively hot and humid.

Henry rode at the head of the procession, flanked by Archbishop Siegfried of Mainz, his royal advisor Bishop Herman of Lubeck—excommunicated for his staunch support of the Emperor—Bishop Hadrian of Münster, and Bishop Aist of Bonn.

The rear guard was led by Friedrich of Hohenstaufen and the Count of Habsburg.

Empress Bertha and Prince Conrad traveled in an armored litter, protected by Henry’s finest knights.

He had just checked on them. They seemed to be handling the journey well enough, though nothing could soothe Bertha’s melancholy.

They had just buried their daughter, Adelaide, before leaving Speyer. Only the company of Conrad, and the touch of his small hand, seemed to offer her any comfort.

’This is all your fault!’ she had screamed when he came to see their daughter’s body, her golden hair crowned with dried pink roses. ’God is angry with you. He has been angry with you since Utrecht! Your sins will destroy us all.’

He remembered her shoulders trembling with grief as she turned away to kiss the cold face of her child, a child who had grown tired of human suffering and gone to play in Heaven.

’An Emperor should not grow too fond of his daughter. Due to the ongoing civil war, he had only seen her a few times a year, but she had been a lovely, happy child, full of smiles. At least the Virgin Mary would look after her.’

Just as Henry saw the night begin to fade and the first light break on the horizon, he arrived at Canossa.

Canossa Castle was the most imposing structure in the city—a pale, white fortress.

When Matilda’s great-grandfather built this fortress with its three curtain walls, he named it "Canossa"—meaning "whiteness"—for its pale stone.

He tugged the reins of his mount. Braun, a gentle horse who knew its master’s heart, immediately slowed to a light trot.

He felt a wave of unease. Exhausted from a sleepless night, a sudden, violent coughing fit shook Henry, forcing him to double over.

He clutched his stomach, fighting the urge to vomit, and then straightened himself.

The faces of the knights around him swam before his eyes, as if shrouded in fog.

’Was he going to pass out?’

Goth Shalke’s reassuring voice answered his unspoken question. "We have arrived, Your Majesty."

At a signal from Goth Shalke, attendants rushed to help him dismount.

The Archbishop of Mainz rode up to him.

He had just started to speak when Henry shook his head, "Continue on without me. I have my own path to walk."

The Archbishop sighed and rode back. His orders spread through the ranks: they were to complete the rest of the journey on foot, parting to either side to clear a path for the Emperor.

Henry gave an order. A knight pulled a garment from a saddlebag. It was a dark-colored cloth, marked with conspicuous brown spots.

The knight approached Henry. Henry handed him his Crown and the King’s Cloak, which was embroidered with the Salian eagle. Then, he removed his blue silk tunic, baring his torso, and took off his leather boots, leaving him barefoot.

The knight helped the King into the brown garment. It was a coarse woolen habit of a Benedictine monk, the kind worn at Cluny.

Henry knelt in the mud, made the sign of the cross, and was quickly covered in filthy water.

Empress Bertha was as still as a statue. Prince Conrad stared at his father, confused.

The rain began to fall again. It was still light, but given enough time, it would drown him.

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